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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419307">Falling Backwards, Falling Backwards</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWalkingParadox/pseuds/AWalkingParadox'>AWalkingParadox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I write things at midnight [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Penumbra Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae AU, M/M, dragon - Freeform, flirting is so hard what the frick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:41:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWalkingParadox/pseuds/AWalkingParadox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A bone shattering roar rumbles through the plains, shaking the crimson sand. Overhead a dark shape soars past, so large it’s as if it momentarily blocks out the sun as it passes by. Terrible wings stretches wide, leaving a gust of wind strong enough to knock them to their knees. The beast lets out one more guttural scream, maw opened to reveal rows and rows of glistening teeth, before disappearing just as fast as it had come. </p><p>    “What the hell.” The detective is sprawled out on the sand, dust-swept and trembling. “Nureyev what in god’s name was that.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I write things at midnight [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Falling Backwards, Falling Backwards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>another oneeeeee</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   The detective does call him, though not by any magical means; and definitely not with the intent of seeing the fae again. Instead, Peter hears his little message from a friend of a friend of a friend. And who was he to deny a lady his invitation? This is how he finds himself draped over the detective’s ratty couch, wine glass in hand and smile sharp. The detective’s footsteps and his grumblings approach from the stairway, and Peter readies himself for when the door cracks open and lets in that sliver of light. Scarred fingers fumble for the light switch, and then, </p><p> </p><p>    “Hello, detective. It’s been a while.”</p><p> </p><p>    The statement, of course, would have made much more of an impact with the detective’s name, Peter muses over indignant sputtering, but the desired results were achieved all the same.</p><p> </p><p>    “N-Nureyev?” Gold sings through Peter’s body, warm and unfamiliar, like the lips of someone he knows. It isn’t unpleasant in the slightest. “What the hell are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Why, detective, you called me, remember?” </p><p> </p><p>    “Like hell I did. After your little stint with the mask, why would I want to talk to you again?” </p><p> </p><p>    “Well, if I recall correctly, it was something about Martian artifacts?” At the detective’s stunned silence, Peter smiles. “Yes, Vicky put quite a good word in for you. Not that she needed to, of course. I would have come nonetheless.” </p><p> </p><p>    “What do you have to do with any of this?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Remember the string of thefts you so diligently followed? The mask, the throne, the key?” Peter rearranges himself, crossing one leg over the other. “I was the thief.”</p><p> </p><p>    Peter holds up one gloved hand, halting the detective’s protests, “Let me finish first, dear. I was hired by a woman, the Queen. She seeks the egg of Purus to complete her collection and eradicate all of mankind.”</p><p> </p><p>    “But that-that’s only a legend!” The detective says, “There’s no way in hell she believes it’s true?”</p><p> </p><p>    Peter looks up at him from over his glasses, and says quietly, “Legends do not come from nothing, detective. Often, each spawns from a seed of truth, warping and growing into stories mothers tell their children when tucking them into bed at night. This is no such story, this legend is as true as you and I and the danger this woman can wreak upon your kind.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Where is she now?” The detective says faintly. </p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t know.” </p><p> </p><p>     “<em> What </em>?” </p><p> </p><p>    “We’ve never met in person, only in planned out locations and schedules. I am supposed to finally meet her the day after tomorrow, to deliver the Egg of Purus. I cannot let that happen.”</p><p> </p><p>     “Why can’t you? It’s not like it’ll affect you. What stake do you have in all of this?” The detective asks, a bitter tinge creeping into his voice. </p><p> </p><p>    “I am not as cold hearted as you would like to believe, detective.” Peter replies coldly. “As difficult to grasp as it seems, I do not wish for mankind to fall. I am not a monster.” His voice softens for a moment, “There are...some I care for deeply.” </p><p> </p><p>    The detective clears his throat, eyes darting away. “Well, when are we leaving?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Right now, as a matter of fact. We’ve no time to waste.”</p><p> </p><p>     “It’s the middle of the goddamn night, Nureyev.” </p><p> </p><p>    “A good a time as any, no?” Peter shivers once again as the lady utters his name. It sings of sweet honey and warm fires, molten and pure. “We mustn’t dally, darling. The future of your kind rests on our shoulders.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh goody.” The detective grumbles in return, eliciting from Peter a genuine laugh. </p><p> </p><p> ~•~</p><p> </p><p>    It is early dawn by the time they reach the desert. Sand stretches miles past the eyes’ limit, infinite red and gold strewn out in all directions. </p><p> </p><p>    “Creepy.” The detective mutters at his side, boots scuffing the coarse land. </p><p> </p><p>    “I do not know about creepy, detective,” Peter says, lifting a hand up to block out the glare of the artificial sun. “Though it is quite empty, and lonely too.” </p><p> </p><p>    “What’re we doing here, anyway?” He hadn’t had time to change, still wearing the same rumpled blouse and coat he had worn the night before. “Didn’t take you for the tourist type.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh that’s because I’ve seen all there is to see, detective.” Peter scans the horizon, lips quirked in muted excitement. He holds up a finger, and says quietly, “Wait for it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “For <em> what </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>     And <em> there </em> it is.</p><p> </p><p>    A bone shattering roar rumbles through the plains, shaking the crimson sand. Overhead a dark shape soars past, so large it’s as if it momentarily blocks out the sun as it passes by. Terrible wings stretches wide, leaving a gust of wind strong enough to knock them to their knees. The beast lets out one more guttural scream, maw opened to reveal rows and rows of glistening teeth, before disappearing just as fast as it had come. </p><p> </p><p>    “What the hell.” The detective is sprawled out on the sand, dust-swept and trembling. “Nureyev what in god’s name was that.”</p><p> </p><p>    Peter hums, pointedly ignoring the way his heart sings, and gets to his feet. “That, my dear detective,” He says, extending a hand to the fallen lady, “was a dragon. And we are going to find its hoard.” </p><p> </p><p>    Scarred fingers warm in his own, Peter pulls him up, gripping his arm when the detective stumbles and pales. “There is no way those things exist. A dragon, hoard, those are just fairytales.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’ve seen them with your own two eyes, have you not?” Peter says, heels clicking on the sand. Dry wind blows through the desert. “Come then, detective, get your car.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Where are we going?” The lady half-shouts, struggling to catch of to Peter’s long strides. Peter hears a few muttered curses before the detective’s unruly mop comes into view by his side. “What’s the next stop on this <em> wonderful adventure </em>?” </p><p> </p><p>    “Why, detective, I’m glad you asked.” Peter smiles wickedly sharp, the tips of his fangs just peeking past the glamour. “Up next, the Oasis.” </p><p> </p><p>   </p><p><br/>
<br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>man I've had this wip for so long :')))<br/>hope you enjoyed it!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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